


This Emptiness Around Us

by Milarca



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Asexual Character, Asexual!Sherlock, BDSM, Cuddling, D/s, Dom!John, Dom/sub, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, M/M, Non-Sexual Submission, Sensual Attraction, Sensuality, Sherlock feels and acts on sensual desire, sub!Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-29
Updated: 2015-01-29
Packaged: 2018-03-09 13:18:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3251129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Milarca/pseuds/Milarca
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock feels adrift; John is there for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Emptiness Around Us

**Author's Note:**

> Because I've had questions about this: I did write Sherlock to be an asexual who feels sensual attraction and desire, however I'm also aware that that's not made explicit. So, I guess, he doesn't have to be ace if that's not your interpretation of this. However, the reason I tagged it as Sherlock being asexual is because, as an ace person looking for fic, finding something like this would, to me, be comforting, and exactly what I was looking for. Perhaps it's not explicitly stated that he's ace, because he does express and act on sensual desire (which ace people can feel), but I did write him that way. TLDR: You can take or leave Sherlock being asexual here. I tagged it as I did because I personally feel that it's a useful tag for some people. I did write him that way, but I know it's vague, so if you want to see him the way you can, but if you don't, then you don't have to.

A siren wailed mournfully in the distance and Sherlock blinked in surprise, his focus broken. A second later he realized he'd been looking at the same section of plasma for about five minutes without absorbing a thing.

He blinked tiredly and sat back from the microscope. In the living room, John was reading a novel in his armchair, as he sometimes did this time of night.

It was odd. Sherlock felt suddenly strange and empty for some reason. He'd been interested in the details of this case only a few hours ago, but, like the flick of a switch, he now had little interest in it.

He sighed, looking at the microscope a moment longer before pulling off the latex gloves and getting up. He stopped just behind John, and for a half-second he played with the idea of standing behind him and watching him silently. But of course he wouldn't do that. He moved just into his peripheral vision, and John glanced up briefly.

“Hello there,” John said gently, before turning back to his book.  

“...Hello,” Sherlock said quietly, lips quirking up.

His hands fluttered for a moment, and then, on impulse, pushed gently into John’s hair. John jerked and made a small noise of surprise but didn’t pull away. The hint of a smile played at his lips.

Sherlock moved his fingers steadily through John’s short, bristly hair. He bit his lip as John relaxed slowly. Doing this comforted him, as John’s presence itself did. His willingness to the touch made Sherlock feel safe, too. He massaged John’s temples and was rewarded with a soft moan and the doctor's head dropping back further.

“You’re good at this,” John murmured.

“I try,” he said with a small smirk, and John snuffed quiet laughter.

Sherlock was gentle and exploratory, running his fingers through John’s hair in ways that were pleasing to him. He petted the doctor's scalp and scratched his head, smirking slightly at his handiwork and John’s hums. He held John’s head firmly then, holding and tilting it this way and that, just lightly, just because he could. He found it intoxicating being able to manipulate the dom like this.

He loved taking control of John, when he could and of course only when John was amiable to the idea. He supposed it was because he knew that John was still in control and he could have a little bit of fun. Have a bit of power without the whole package.

“Sherlock… ” John said then, voice hesitant, and hinting apprehension.

Jolting, Sherlock snatching his hands back as if burned.

“ _Sher—_ ” John twisted around to look at him, expression baffled and anxious and confused.

“I'm sorry,” he said quickly, meeting John’s eyes for only a moment before flicking his gaze away. He swallowed hard.

John watched him silently. Intently.

After a moment, the doctor put an arm on the back of the chair and exhaled gently, gaze flickering. Sherlock watched him nervously. John licked his lips, swallowed, and took a breath. And then he seemed to calm.

He glanced back up.

"I didn't mean to startle you," he said with a small, encouraging smile.

Sherlock swallowed and nodded.

"Yes. Apologies."

John's expression went slightly pinched at that but smoothed back a moment later. Thankfully he didn't say _You don't need to apologize._ Sherlock always found it frustrating when people said that.

"Okay,” John said then with a bit of a sigh. “Okay, come here." He reached around to take Sherlock’s hand while simultaneously getting to his feet. Sherlock was limp in his grip as he led him over to the couch.

John sat down and gently pulled him down to kneel between his legs, though more sideways, so he could rest his shoulder against the side of the couch. It also meant he didn’t have to look at the doctor directly, which he appreciated.

John’s hand was also immediately at his neck, rubbing wordlessly. His grip was firm though gentle, moving to his shoulders and slowly moving up his neck again and into his hair.

Sherlock sighed as John’s fingers threaded through his curls, pulling gently, soothingly. The tense muscles in his shoulders started to relax and he closed his eyes as John rubbed his scalp. He stayed boneless, hands loose in his lap.

“Just bored?” John said after a moment.

And Sherlock’s throat tightened and he swallowed hard. He didn’t know. These things came and went. Bored. Or anchorless.

He made a small sound of assent, halfway between agreement and consideration, if only because he knew it would appease John for now.  

John was petting his hair then, fingers moving down to his neck, brushing over the hot skin there. He traced the underside of Sherlock's jaw, and the detective's mouth opened automatically.  

John hummed. He didn’t react for a second, but then his fingers whispered over his lips, and Sherlock kissed the soft digits. His tongue poked out to lick, and he abruptly caught John’s finger between his teeth and sucked, dragging his incisors and making the skin red and wet. He pulled it into his mouth and sucked harder, and John let him, growing hot, watching and feeling with rapt, lustful focus.

Sherlock lavished attention on his fingers for several minutes, swirling his tongue and sucking hungrily.

With a pang of longing, then, John carefully pulled away, brushing Sherlock’s cheek with the back of those same fingers, still wet. He touched his eyelids, and tucked a curl behind his ear. Sherlock whimpered, pushing into John's touch.

John started to run his fingers through Sherlock's hair again before he stopped.

"Sherlock, love, let’s go somewhere a bit more comfortable, alright?" he said gently, just touching the back of Sherlock’s neck and motioning him up. Sherlock made a small noise of displeasure at being moved but rose as John did. He grabbed the hem of John’s jumper as the dom steadied him.

And John felt a pang of ache when he noticed, and he paused for only a moment before pulling Sherlock close, wrapping his arms around him and holding him tightly, enough to make his ribs creak. Sherlock huffed in surprise, and then relaxed, returning the embrace. His head rested on John’s, his grip tightening.

And John rubbed his back, and swallowed hard. A swell of affection rose in his throat, the need to keep Sherlock safe, to keep him close and protected raging like a fire within him. He turned and kissed Sherlock’s neck, hard and bruising. And Sherlock hummed, holding him tighter. John breathed against his skin.

The clock in the living room ticked steadily, the traffic just outside, muted.

Sherlock was warm in his arms, his breathing slow and calm. John closed his eyes.

Eventually though, the moment passed. He breathed. Sherlock stirred.

John shifted back and brushed Sherlock’s cheek. The sub looked tired and a bit hollow, but returned his gaze steadily. John gave him a small smile.

“Go wash up,” he said gently, and Sherlock watched him, eyes pained for a brief moment before he nodded and swallowed. John watched him go.

He cleaned up the kitchen and turned the lights off while Sherlock was getting ready, then followed him into the bedroom. The sub was still in his housecoat as he lay curled up in the middle of the bed. John smiled and sat down close. Sherlock followed his movements.

He touched the back of Sherlock’s neck and when the sub arched into his touch and closed his eyes, desire flared hot and low in his belly. Then he leaned in and, gently, kissed him. It was sweet, and Sherlock pushed up to deepen it, hands tensing on the sheets. John smiled warmly and rubbed his jaw with his thumb.

Then he regretfully pulled away.  

Sherlock whined quietly but didn't follow. He slumped back and watched John undress and change into his own pajamas. His pupils dilated and his lips twitched, and John had to force himself not to lean down and kiss him again immediately.

He washed, and returned to find Sherlock without his housecoat on and now under the covers. He turned out the light and slipped in behind. He reached under Sherlock's shirt, snuggling close to pull him tight. Sherlock sighed happily and pushed back into him, pulling his arm closer and tilting his head just that much away to suggest it was in invitation for a kiss, which John supplied with a small smile. Sherlock sighed warmly, hand searching out John's and holding it, fingers intertwined with his.

John twisted their legs around each other's, fitting their bodies together even further, more tightly. Sherlock's eyelids flickered closed.

And there was a pause, and then he shifted. Squirmed. John tightened his hold but Sherlock huffed and pulled away.

"Sherlock, what—"

"Sorry, just let me—"

Confused and startled, though allowing Sherlock movement momentarily without protest, John watched, semi-blind in the dark, as Sherlock twisted around and then curled right back up to his chest, head tucked under his chin.

 _Oh_. John rolled his eyes and sighed, and settled in with the detective once more, holding him close. He fitted his legs between and around Sherlock's again and Sherlock moaned softly, hands settling between them as John held him.

And John squeezed him tighter, legs pulling them together more, and breathed into his hair. Kissed him hard.

"Just wanted this," Sherlock said softly.

"Yes, I can see that."

Sherlock snuffed and John chuckled softly, and the quiet sounds of London drifted in through the space under the window.


End file.
